


Oasis

by moonside



Series: Starstruck [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: AU-ception, An AU of an AU, Anal Sex, Celebrity AU, I gave them the AC costumes, M/M, Modeling, PWP, Promptis - Freeform, Self-Indulgent, This is just smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-25
Updated: 2017-08-25
Packaged: 2018-12-19 16:40:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11901825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonside/pseuds/moonside
Summary: Noctis picks up a modelling gig, doing a promotional shoot for a video game he likes. Prompto decides to tag along, with unexpected consequences.This is literally just an excuse for me to play around with Celeb AU and give these boys assassin costumes. #TeamPromptis





	Oasis

**Author's Note:**

> this is set in my celeb AU universe, at some point in time. if you haven't read that.. well, it's still promptis fucking around in those dumb DLC costumes. you might wanna check out my celeb AU too though. ;3

Prompto should be used to these things by now. There’s certain odd occurrences that come hand-in-hand with dating a movie star. For one, Noctis really has absolutely no concept of money. It’s… well, that much has been apparent to Prompto from day one, when Noct was buying him new phones and fancy clothing. Now that Prompto’s essentially moved in though, now that his days are filled with Noct, he’s realizing just the extent of it. He’d be concerned but, well, he’s gotten a glance at some of Noct’s royalty checks, and they’re _insane._ So, Prompto tries not to think about it too much.

 

Another thing he should be used to, of course, is padding out into the living room, early in the morning, wearing just a pair of Noct’s shorts, to find that Ignis is _sitting in the goddamn living room,_ casually flipping through his phone, a tray of coffees and a bag of breakfast pastries sitting on the coffee table.

 

“Holy fuck,” Prompto says, when he realizes Ignis is there, and he nearly jumps out of his skin. “Iggy. Okay. Dude. Can you like, start _texting_ me when you’re coming in the morning?”

 

Ignis looks up, and blinks, “oh, hello Prompto. I forget you’re living here sometimes.”

 

“I don’t live here,” Prompto insists, even though they both know it’s an absolute lie, and that he’s only got his room back in his apartment with Cindy as a pure formality. His stuff’s slowly migrated into Noct’s apartment, mingling together, creating the perfect sort of domestic disaster. Goddamnit. Okay, maybe they live together.

 

“Do me a favour?” Ignis chooses to ignore Prompto’s words, apparently deciding that the argument isn’t worth having, especially when the sun is barely up. “Go wake up Noctis.”

 

Prompto’s response is to roll his eyes and scoff in Ignis’s direction. “Dude. It’s his day off. I’m not feeling suicidal. You _know_ what he’s like to wake up.” Ignis absolutely knows, and that’s why he’s trying to delegate the duty over to Prompto. Besides, Prompto’s awake at the crack of dawn because he’s about to go for his morning run, and then hit the weights in the fancy gym in their apartment building. He’s not about to waste an hour trying to drag his lazy-ass boyfriend out of bed.

 

“I’ll make it worth your while,” Ignis says, silkily, taking a sip of his coffee, and nodding at the tray of goodies on the table.

 

Prompto’s eyes narrow. He eyes the coffee, and, slowly, shuffles over to grab one. Ignis knows his coffee order by now, too, though Prompto gets the feeling that Ignis simply knows _everything._ Looking after Noctis isn’t exactly an easy job, after all.

 

“I’m listening,” Prompto replies, slowly. “Whatcha got in mind, Specs?”

 

“Get a pastry and sit down,” Ignis offers. Prompto thinks it over for a moment, before he sighs, and settles down – and maybe pulls the blanket off the back of the sofa and down over his lap – and reaches to rifle through the bag for a chocolate croissant. He digs into the pastry, and feels just a little more receptive. Damn Ignis.

 

“Noctis has a photoshoot today,” Ignis says, slowly. Prompto blinks, and frowns.

 

“He told me he has the day off,” Prompto says, slowly, through a thick mouthful of buttery, flaky pastry.

 

Ignis laughs and pushes his glasses up his nose. “It’s a last-minute thing. A promotional thing, for a new video game series that Noct likes. Fairly certain that’s the only reason he agreed to it, since he’s trying to get out of the modelling part of the job.”

 

Prompto blinks. “Wait, so there’s gonna be like… professional photographers and stuff, right?” He crams the rest of his croissant in his face, quickly, and his mood is brightening. If Noct’s gonna be around a bunch of fancy photographers, maybe he can tag along. Maybe he can look at all the super nice gear, and see the cameras, and inspect the settings. It’d be nice, to learn a thing or two…

 

Ignis, of course, was banking on exactly that. “You could probably come along, if you’d like. Although, someone still has to wake up Noctis…”

 

Prompto grumbles, and he takes a quick swig of the latte Ignis had procured for him. “Yeah, yeah, you win, Iggy. As always. I’ll go drag him out of bed.”

 

Ignis smiles, and waves Prompto off. “I’ll be waiting. We need to leave in forty five minutes.”

 

\---

 

It takes Prompto twenty five minutes to drag Noctis out of bed. He hates how goddamn endearing his boyfriend is, because really, he could’ve done it in ten, with kisses pressed along Noct’s jaw, a hand creeping down his chest, into his boxers, curling around his erection… yeah. Except after Noctis finished, he got his arms wrapped around Prompto and pulled him back under the covers.

 

“Noct,” Prompto says finally, nudging his face into the crook of his boyfriend’s neck, “Iggy’s gonna kill you if you don’t get up. You’ve got some dumb photoshoot…”

 

Noctis groans, “fuck, I forgot ‘bout that. Why’d you let me schedule something on my day off?”

 

 _“Me?!”_ Prompto grumbles, and he gives Noct’s shoulder a gentle shove. “Dude, I didn’t even know. I did that walking out half naked and _oh hay,_ Ignis is in the living room thing again. You _really_ need to tell him to start texting me when he’s gonna do that.”

 

“Maybe you should _officially_ move in, then,” Noctis shoots back. Prompto sticks his tongue out, and they share a playful glare, Noct’s eyes sleepy, Prompto’s mostly teasing.

 

Finally, Noctis sighs, and he heaves himself out of bed, muttering obscenities under his breath as he stretches, his back popping with a cracking sound. “Okay, fine. I’m up. Come shower with me?”

  
They absolutely shouldn’t shower together, if they wanna get out of here on time, and Prompto knows it. “Yeah,” he says, instead. Ignis can deal with them being a few minutes late, just for showing up without warning and scaring the shit out of Prompto. Prompto crawls out of bed, discards the pair of Noct’s shorts he’s wearing on the bedroom floor, and slips into the big, fancy shower behind his boyfriend.

 

Prompto sighs, when Noct’s arms curl around him, pulling him close, a hand slipping down between their bodies to get wrapped around his half-hard cock. Okay, so this isn’t so bad. It’s _really_ nice.

 

They’re fifteen minutes late stumbling out into the living room. It’s okay, though. Ignis had anticipated as much, and that’s why he’d showed up extra early, to allow for it.

 

“Have fun?” Ignis asks, mischief sparkling in his eyes behind those sharp glasses he wears.

 

Prompto flushes a little, and Noctis smirks, like a lazy, satisfied cat. “Absolutely,” he says, going for the bag of pastries, fishing out a danish, and shoving it in his face.

 

\---

 

Prompto’s life, over the past months, has been an increasingly dazzling blur. He’s gotten to visit movie sets, fancy locations, so many parties and premieres that his head is spinning (though he tries to forget that _first_ one). He shouldn’t be surprised anymore, when they show up on set of the location they’re shooting at today. Noct’s got his own dressing room, as always, and Ignis and some executive assistant or another are shooting the shit as they usher Prompto and Noctis into it.

 

“I’ll go smooth out the details,” Ignis says, “get dressed, Noctis. You’ve got fifteen before hair and makeup.”

 

Noct always ends up with pretty fancy dressing rooms, and it still kinda astounds Prompto, how much pampering and money goes into this shit. There’s a fully stocked minibar (“who drinks at eight in the morning?!” he asks Noct, only to receive an eye roll and a “you’d be surprised” in response), a whole lot of snacks, bottles of fancy filtered water, a television and a gaming console… the list goes on.

 

Prompto throws himself down onto the couch, and he’s desperately trying to avoid eating a donut or three. He didn’t go for that morning run, after all. “So, what’s this shoot all about, anyway?”

 

Noct ducks into the little side room, where the costume’s all laid out for him, and he doesn’t bother closing the door. Prompto’s scrolling through his phone, but he’s mostly sneaking glances at his boyfriend. Noctis lets his shirt and his jeans fall to the floor, and kicks them aside.

 

“It’s promotional material for that new assassin game that’s coming out in a few months,” Noct says, “I mean. It’s kinda dumb, but cool, right? I’m not complaining.”

 

“I like those games,” Prompto says, blinking, and he’s suddenly _very_ interested. Well, in general, Prompto’s a pretty damn good boyfriend. He’s always interested in Noct’s career. In part it’s because yeah, Noct’s got a really damn cool job. Who doesn’t wanna know what their fuckin’ movie star boyfriend is up to?! But hell, partially because it’s just Noct. Even if he was something boring, like a dentist, Prompto would still wanna know all the details. Especially since Noct was so closed off about it all in those first disastrous months.

 

“Don’t get me wrong, I like ‘em too,” Noctis says, as he’s tugging various pieces of the costume on. “I just… I don’t get it. They’re dumping all this money doing stuff like this for the game? Why don’t they just use that money to make actual _content_ for it? It’s like that one game we played a few months ago… the story just _ended,_ after they spent all that time on it…”

 

Prompto rolls his eyes, “Noct, people only really care about DLC these days, anyway. The main plot doesn’t matter anymore.”

 

“True,” Noctis sighs. He’s making strange little noises as he struggles with putting the clothes on.

 

“Hey, you need help?” Prompto glances up from his phone properly, and catches a glimpse of Noct. His boyfriend’s wearing quite the getup. He’s got on long, white robes with a wide hood. There’s a red sash tucked around his waist, covered with a thick, brown leather belt. There’s matching brown armor, a shoulderpad on one shoulder, a strap criss-crossing across the chest and fastened with bits of metal, bracers, and tall boots. Prompto’s cheeks flush a little. Noct’s pale skin stands out stark, and his eyes are burning bright, even from a fucking distance. Okay, so Noctis pulls off the desert assassin look _really_ damn well.

 

“Think I got it,” Noctis admits with a laugh, stepping back into the room. Prompto realizes that at least his boyfriend has soft pants on underneath the robes, and that’s probably for the best, because otherwise, they might never make it out of the damn dressing room. “How do I look?”

 

“I mean, you can shank me from behind, if you want,” Prompto offers, with a laugh.

 

“Don’t tempt me,” Noctis fucking winks, and then he tugs the hood up over his face – to look _mysterious –_ and hell, somehow, that only adds to the appeal. “Keep me company during hair and makeup?”

 

“Yeah,” Prompto agrees breathlessly, letting Noctis grab him by the hand and drag him off down the hallway.

 

\---

 

Prompto’s learned that sometimes, in the industry, things just go wrong. There’s a million pieces to the machine, and there’s so many places for disaster. Sometimes, equipment fails. Sometimes, there’s a publicity nightmare – Prompto’s quite familiar with _those,_ after all – and actors and models have to be replaced. And, well, sometimes, models just don’t show up for their photoshoot, leaving everyone scrambling.

 

“I swear,” Noctis grumbles, sitting in his seat on the edge of the set, “if they don’t find a replacement, and we came here for _nothing,_ Ignis, I’m going to fucking murder someone…”

 

“Noct,” Ignis says, sighing, “don’t get your hopes up. We’ll likely have to reschedule…”

 

Noctis grumbles, and rests his head on Prompto’s shoulder. Prompto feels like he should point out that it’ll mess up his perfectly styled hair, or smudge the layers of stage makeup, but hell, his boyfriend’s head is a nice, warm presence, so he simply leans in. Their hands tangle together, and even though Prompto can _feel_ the annoyance radiating off Noct, he simply squeezes his hand, their fingers twined.

 

Finally, an exhausted looking photographer approaches them. “We need to talk about rescheduling,” he says, in a quiet, apologetic voice, “I’m really sorry, Mr. Caelum…”

 

Noctis groans and lifts his head, “dude, my schedule is _full._ This was my one free day, can’t you just get the shoots you need?”

 

“We didn’t have you in any alone,” the guy’s explaining, with a harrowed expression. “So unless you have another model friend hanging around… someone who just _happens_ to be about your build, preferably blonde…”

 

Prompto knows what’s coming before Noctis even says it. “ _Noctis,”_ he says, in a warning sort of tone, “Noct, don’t you dare.”

 

Noctis, of course, offers up his best, dazzling, movie-star smile. “What about my boyfriend, here? Guaranteed we’ve got good chemistry.”

 

The guy gives Prompto a long, lingering look, and Prompto does his best to shrink down in his chair, and look especially pathetic. “Y’know, he’d probably do just fine. What do you say?”

 

“ _Noctis,”_ Prompto groans, “I’m going to kill you, no. I’m not doing it.”

 

“Please?” Noct’s saying, “dude, I don’t wanna miss out on this shoot. C’mon, you could make video game _history.”_

 

The photographer seems pleased, “it pays well,” he’s adding in, “and besides, wouldn’t it be neat to get some attention on the internet?”

 

“ _No,”_ Prompto shoots back, instantly, with a glare, “trust me, I do not want to get back on the internet.” But… well, Noct’s been paying for _everything._ Prompto’s gotten more accepting of the idea, yeah, but he still feels guilty about it. He’s been working fewer shifts at the tea shop, just because it’s on the other side of town from Noct’s apartment, and school’s been picking up, and… well. “How much is it paying?” he asks, finally.

 

“ Ten g’s sound good?” the guy says. Prompto’s eyes are about to bug out of his head.

 

“Twenty,” Ignis steps in, immediately, before Prompto can respond, “and we’ll discuss royalties.”

 

Prompto doesn’t think he’s ever had _that_ much money in his entire life. Holy fuck.

 

“I guess show me what I’m wearing,” he squeaks out, and Noctis grins, giving his hand an extra squeeze. “C’mon, Noct, I’m gonna need the moral support…”

 

\---

 

“I uh,” Prompto says, fifteen minutes later, eyeing himself critically in front of the mirror, “I didn’t expect it to be so _skimpy.”_

 

Really, he’d expected a getup similar to Noct’s, with the white robes. And, well, he’s got the wide, white hood thing going on. But apart from a weird, sweeping shoulder plate that covers his shoulders and the top part of his chest, a good deal of his upper body’s exposed. Half of him is wrapped up in swatches of white and orange cloth, extending down to hang well past his knees, but the other side of his chest? Totally naked, from above the nipple, down past his waist. Prompto grumbles and does a little side-turn. The weird leather pants they’ve got him wearing cut off at the knee, too, though at least he’s got armor covering up the front of him, there.

 

“You look _really_ good,” Noct’s saying, in that quiet, husky voice of his, the one that makes Prompto all shuddery. He paces behind Prompto, getting a good glimpse at the whole ornate affair, at the red sash wrapped around his waist, the numerous belts that wrap around, the prop blade, the fancy bracers… well, really, Prompto has to admit, maybe he kinda pulls the look off. Maybe.

 

“You can totally see my stretch marks,” Prompto grumbles, “I am _not_ buff enough for this.” He’s damn grateful that he’s put a lot of effort into weight training lately, though, because at least he _almost_ has real abs now. “Don’t even get me started on the freckles, Noct. And oh god, you can see my nipple…”

 

“What’s wrong with your nipple?” Noctis shoots back. “I think you look _amazing.”_

 

“Ignis better negotiate me a good salary for this,” Prompto grumbles, but he’s smiling, just a little, because really, this is pretty damn _cool._ And the look in Noct’s eyes? Prompto recognizes that smoldering bit of desire, and okay, maybe it makes him feel a little bit powerful.

 

“Why do you think I keep Ignis around? He’s the best,” Noctis points out, reaching for Prompto’s hand. “C’mon. Let’s go get your hair and makeup done, so we can get this over with and get the fuck out of here.”

 

Prompto nods, and takes a deep, shuddering breath, reminding himself that _Noct_ thinks he looks good. They’re going to get through this.

 

\---

 

“Fuck,” the photographer is saying to Ignis, during a quick break in the photoshoot, “why the hell didn’t you introduce me to blondie before, Ignis?! He’s a natural.”

 

Ignis laughs, quietly. “He prefers to stay out of the spotlight.”

 

“He shouldn’t. The camera _loves_ him,” the photographer points out, “give him my card. Or are you his manager now, too? Caelum’s a bit of a fulltime charge though, I’d imagine…”

 

“Oh, I doubt he’ll want to do this again,” Ignis says, idly, “but I’ll pass your card on to him. I imagine I’d be representing him.”

 

Prompto overhears the conversation, and he fights off a flush. He has to admit, this is _fun._ The lights are a little too bright, and they’re probably picking up on his every flaw, on every freckle, or every old, silvery faded scar that stands out stark against his half-naked chest. Every time Noct presses a little too close, too, there’s goosebumps rising on his skin. And, fuck, Prompto’s really damn grateful for the fact that he’s in a lot of loose layers, because Noct smells good, he feels good, and _fuck,_ his boyfriend’s eyes on him are absolutely doing things to him that they shouldn’t be.

 

“It’s not so bad, huh?” Noctis mumbles, his voice low, as he gulps down an entire bottle of water. Prompto’s nursing his bottle, but only because he’s terrified of having to run off set and pee during the middle of the shoot. The potential embarrassment there is just _way_ too high. Of course, his throat is dry, and he’s nervous as all hell. Without Noct here, there’s no way he’d be posing in front of a camera this way. Luckily, though, as soon as Noct’s by his side, it’s easy for Prompto to forget about everything else.

 

It helps, too, that Prompto’s taken enough photography lessons to know just how to pose, to know just what way to shift his weight to make himself look thinner, to make his frame look less awkward and more appealing, soft curves. He thinks, just maybe, that he’ll pull it off.

 

“Break’s over,” the photographer calls, after the hair stylist and makeup artist rush over to do final touch ups, “c’mon, let’s finish this up.”

 

\---

 

Prompto’s whole body is on fire with a strange adrenaline he didn’t even know he was fucking capable of. That photoshoot, the last bit, it had been hell.

 

It’d involved a simple enough pose. The two of them, pressed up close, Noctis with an arm casually thrown over Prompto’s shoulder. It’s just unfortunate enough that Noct’s fingers had brushed over that bit of exposed chest. They’d done a whole lot of poses, back to back, mid mock fight, comrades, allies, enemies, the whole deal. But this particular one, with their hips pressed close, with Noct’s face tipped in, both of their hoods off, eyes meeting… _fuck,_ it’d had sparks flying.

 

The fucking photographer had commented about their amazing chemistry.

 

Ignis had smiled knowingly.

 

Prompto’s already well aware that the Promptis fangirls on the internet are going to go _insane_ when they see these photos. He’s pretty sure this fucking video game is going to have a huge surge in new fans, with all the thirsty girls who will play solely because of the two of them.

 

“You interested in a modelling career?” a few people watching had asked Prompto. He’d shaken his head and said no, and Ignis had swept in to take cards and to mumble, “we’ll talk,” and shake hands, and Prompto has a feeling that he’s going to have to have a very firm talk with Ignis later that _no,_ he’s never doing this again.

 

Right now, though, it’s hard to talk. Prompto should’ve gone back to his own dressing room, but of course, instead, he’s in Noct’s. The door is kicked shut, and they have the presence of mind to hurriedly lock it, at least, before their lips are clashing together, all that fancy makeup smearing, the carefully perfected hairstyles mussing. Prompto’s got a hand curled around Noct’s neck. Noct’s hands are working at the hood, unwrapping it and getting it down off Prompto’s neck, and the heavy, ornate shoulderpiece follows, falling to the floor with a thud.

 

“Fuck,” Noct’s saying, when their lips draw apart long enough for Prompto to breathe, to dip his head down to rake teeth over Noct’s adam’s apple, drawing out a gasp, “you know how much you were driving me insane out there?”

 

“Was I?” Prompto laughs, and Noct responds by pushing a thigh between his legs, grinding up against his half-hard cock, through all those layers.

 

“Fucking hell you were,” Noctis hisses, head tipping back, fingers tugging Prompto’s hair, “god, you look _good_ showing a little skin, Prom… I couldn’t handle it.”

 

Prompto laughs, and he wants to say something about how Noct’s damn robes cover up way too _much_ skin, but Noct’s flipping them. There’s still a basket of donuts and snacks on the vanity, as well as various hair and makeup products. Noctis makes a huge fucking mess as he pushes it all aside, and shoves Prompto down over the top of it.

 

“Fuck, _Noct,_ you’re a little needy, huh?” Prompto tries to tease, but the words absolutely come out more of a moan than anything else. He can feel Noct’s erection, can feel the throbbing heat of it, even through the layers of clothing between them. One hand grips at the edge of the vanity, the other reaching back to squeeze at Noct’s thigh.

 

“Bet I’m not the only one,” and to prove his point, Noctis snakes a hand around, cups Prompto’s rapidly growing cock through his own clothes. Yeah. Noct’s definitely not wrong, there, and Prompto doesn’t have it in him to properly argue.

 

“Fuck, Noct,” he mumbles instead, “c’mon then, _show_ me how you want me.”

 

Getting the costumes off proves to be a little more difficult than getting them on. Noctis manages though. He fumbles awkwardly with the belts, and Prompto lifts his hips up to help, fingers working at his front to get the buckles undone. It’s a little hard, his fingers trembling, his mind foggy, as Noctis nips and bites and leaves rough red marks over that bit of exposed shoulderblade, as his tongue chases a little line of sweat over Prompto’s spine. The sash and the belts come off, finally, though. Noct doesn’t bother with the pants, or the layers of armor, or anything else though, simply goes right for Prompto’s pants, and works them down his thighs.

 

Prompto doesn’t question where the slickness is coming from, when Noct presses him firmly over the vanity again. He’s still wearing half his costume, but Noct simply pushes the drapes of shawl and cloak aside, wet fingers sliding between the cleft of his ass. In reality, Noct’s probably just using some fancy lotion or something that had been left for a purpose that _definitely_ isn’t this one. It doesn’t matter though, because Noct’s got two fingers hooked inside of him, and that’s _all_ Prompto can think about. Fuck, it feels good. Fuck, he’s been craving this.

 

“Noct,” Prompto gasps out, when his boyfriend’s fingers crook up, when they find the spot that has him seeing stars, “please.” His cock’s fully hard now, precome beading at his tip, making a damp spot in the fancy costume they have absolutely no right to be ruining this way.

 

“Please what?” Noct presses a third finger in, and he _twists,_ and Prompto’s keening again, his erection twitching.

 

“Please,” Prompto gasps, gripping rough at the edge of the vanity, “fuck me.”

 

Noctis withdraws his fingers. There’s a moment where the heat pressed up against his thighs and his ass retreats. Prompto looks over his shoulder, eyes burning, and he realizes Noct’s fighting with his own clothes. He’s still wearing the robes, though the hood is down, and the sash and heavy leather belt’s been discarded. With all that makeup – smudged as it is – Noctis really does look beautiful, every bit the famous actor-slash-model he really, truly is. There’s a moment, just a brief one, where the emotion hits Prompto heavy in the chest. Where he realizes, _this is mine, all mine,_ and there’s a surge of appreciation, of love. Fuck, Prompto’s lucky. How did he ever pull this off?

 

The moment passes, though, when Noct finally gets the stupid pants down his hips, and he reaches down, gives his cock a heavy, appreciative stroke, coating it with more of the fancy lotion he’s using as lube.

 

“You,” Noctis murmurs, a hand grasping Prompto’s hip, the other at the back of his neck, bending him over further, stretching Prompto out and making him feel _so vulnerable,_ but so fucking good, “are amazing, Prom, fuck I love you.”

 

Noct’s rocking in then, his hips pressing steadily, his cock slipping into Prompto’s tight ass, and they both sigh. For Prompto, it’s all the rough sensation of being filled, of having Noct’s throbbing cock filling him up, inch by inch. He tries to arch his back, gripping at the vanity harder, but Noct’s hand is on the back of his neck, holding him prone. It’s frustrating, but it’s so good, and Prompto’s whining and keening and rocking back against his boyfriend’s dick as Noct sinks in, slowly, inch by fucking inch.

 

“Noct,” Prompto whines out, when Noctis finally bottoms out, after what feels like an eternity, “fuck, _move,_ please, I need it.” He can feel every inch of Noct, splitting him open, and it hurts, it aches, but it feels so damn good, too. “Fuck me.”

 

Noctis makes a quiet, appreciative sound, his lips ghosting over an exposed shoulderblade, and then he’s _moving._ He’s withdrawing a little, then slamming back in, and they both gasp at the sensation. It’s rough, and it’s messy, and it’s absolutely perfect. There’s friction – they don’t have proper lube, after all – but Prompto’s a bit of a masochist, and it’s not anything he can’t take. The heat is building between them, fast, urgent, and Prompto lets himself get a little lost in it.

 

It’s hard to do anything but focus on the feeling of Noct behind him. One hand’s gripping Prompto’s hip, rough enough to bruise. The other hand’s shifted from his neck to his shoulder, pinning him down, but Noct’s let up enough that Prompto can lift his head a little. Noct’s working into him with deep, rough thrusts, ones that are pressing little bits of friction right over Prompto’s prostate. The dressing room is silent, except for the sound of skin on skin and the sounds of their pleasure.

 

“Fuck,” Prompto’s whimpering, his aching cock nudging against the vanity with every thrust, creating a strange sort of friction that isn’t satisfying enough at all. He’s hard, leaking messy strands of precome over the fabric of the costume he’s still half wearing, smearing over the surface of the vanity. His knuckles are white from clutching the edge of the table. Prompto lifts his head a little, and he realizes the mirror’s right in front of him. From this angle, he can make out his wide, tear-filled eyes, his face, flushed with need. And he can see Noct behind him, eyes narrowed, mouth hanging open a little, all lust, all desire.

 

“Prom,” Noctis says, and there’s such _reverence,_ it has Prompto’s cock throbbing, aching, every bit of him on fire, “fuck, you’re perfect.”

 

When Noct gets a hand between them, wraps it around Prompto’s cock, and _jerks,_ it’s over almost instantly. It’s pathetically fast. There’s four rough strokes, Noct gripping his throbbing cock just the way Prompto likes. It’s a rough grip, a little too hard to be entirely pleasure, but it’s _just_ fucking right. The heat builds in Prompto’s belly, has him wound up tight like a coil, and suddenly he’s tensing, his head tossing back, every muscle in his body going tense as he comes all over Noct’s hand, all over the ridiculous costume he’s wearing, making a total fucking mess of it all, Noct’s name on his lips, again and again.

 

Noctis fucks him through his orgasm, until Prompto’s limp and gasping, his whole body twitching and shuddering under the roughness. He’s damn close to overstimulation, about to beg Noct to _stop,_ when Prompto hears the familiar low moan, feels Noct’s hips stutter, his thrusts turning jerky and erratic, and then there’s warmth filling him up, marking him, making him feel warm and perfect and impossibly blissed out.

 

“Fuck,” Noct mumbles, half-collapsing against Prompto, lips moving over that bit of exposed back again and again, wet-hot kisses that are brimming with love and need. Prompto manages a quiet little sound, something between a gasp and a laugh, and they stay like that for a long moment, before Noct withdraws, wetness trickling down Prompto’s thigh, as he stands up, wobbly, legs feeling like jelly.

 

“I totally ruined the costume,” Prompto says with a laugh, as Noctis takes his hand and drags him over to the couch pressed up against one of the walls. There’s a wet stain standing out stark against the orange sash that he’s still wearing.

 

“ ‘s okay,” Noct laughs, and he hasn’t even bothered to tug the pants back off, as they collapse into a pile on the little couch, arms curling around each other, lips meeting in a kiss that’s slower now, not as urgent, now that the edge is taken down a notch or two. “I’ll tell Iggy we wanna keep the costumes. He’ll work it out.”

 

Prompto laughs a little, “keep them? You just wanna stare at my chest more, huh Noct?”

 

Noctis laughs too, and nuzzles into Prompto’s neck. “Totally. These are absolutely gonna be our Halloween costumes this year.”

 

Prompto feels like he should complain, but he doesn’t have it in him to, really. He’s all warm and happy, all thoughts distant and far off, not a concern in the world. Okay, so maybe, sometimes, having a totally famous celebrity boyfriend isn’t so bad.

 

“You’re lucky I love you, Noct,” Prompto mumbles, “totally lucky. You’re kind of a dick.”

 

“Mm,” Noctis agrees, dipping down for a kiss, “I am lucky, huh?”

 

\---

 

“I wouldn’t do that,” Ignis says, kindly, to the poor assistant who’s been charged with the unfortunate task of checking up on the talent and acquiring the costumes back. “I’m afraid Noctis and his colleague are rather _busy,_ at the moment.”

 

The dressing rooms are not sound proof, unfortunately. Ignis didn’t need that particular fact though, to know exactly what Noctis and Prompto are getting up to. He’d recognized that look in Noct’s eyes, and the flush spreading across Prompto’s cheeks. More than anything, he simply knows the two, and far better than either of them – especially Prompto – will ever admit.

 

“Uh,” the girl says, “I need to get the costumes…”

 

“You don’t want those costumes back,” Ignis says, with a quiet laugh, “why don’t you tell me who I have to talk to, instead, to arrange that we keep them?”

 

The girl nods dumbly, and jumps when there’s a _sound_ from the other side of the wall, one that’s definitely a sex sound. “Oh,” she says, realization sinking in. “Right. I should’ve known, huh…?”

 

“Probably,” Ignis agrees, amiably, “I’ve long given up on trying to quell those Promptis rumours.”

 

“They’re a good couple,” the girl says, gesturing for Ignis to follow, her cheeks flushed bright red now that she’s aware of exactly what’s going on. “Those pictures are gonna go viral, you know…”

 

Ignis sighs. “Oh, I know. The job security is very good, you know.”

 

\---

 

Once again, #TeamPromptis is trending on Twitter.

 

“I’m never going to escape this drama, am I?” Prompto groans as he stares at the computer screen in horror. “Noct, why did I agree to do those photos?! They’re talking about my _nipples.”_

 

“You do have nice nipples,” Noctis agrees, looking up from his video game. The company had been nice enough to send them an early copy, as a thank you for doing the photoshoot. Perk of the job and all.

 

Prompto flushes, “god, Noctis, all the fangirls are going on about us having bedroom eyes. What does that even _mean?”_

 

Noctis shrugs. “Probably that I look like I wanna fuck you. Can’t really disagree there. I always wanna fuck you.”

 

Prompto groans loudly. “Noctis, when am I gonna learn? When will I stop doing this stuff?”

 

Noctis shrugs, again. “At least they’re talking about your nipples now instead of calling you Cinderella again.”

 

Prompto wails, and tosses his phone aside, diving under the covers. He hopes that this blows over quickly. “Noctis, this sucks,” he grumbles, “these fangirls need to get a life and stop shipping us.”

 

That much, everyone can agree on.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm not sorry. i probably should be, but i'm not.
> 
> is this an AU of an AU? probably. does this mean there's, eventually, a happily ever after for these boys? oh most definitely.
> 
> prompto's nipples are the real winners here though, let's be honest. also, now that i bit the bullet and created a series for my mess of an AU universe, i totally can write all the other dumb one-shots of "smut that will never make it into the main series." again, not sorry. 
> 
> twitter @thatdest ; tumblr @destatree. <3


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